Friday, June 23, 2006

Bathrobe Banshee and The fuck factory.

Today was killer. There was no time at all to do anything, it was also ridiculously hot. A BIG IMPORTANT MEETING loomed and Stuart and I pored through endless clippings and figures to prepare. We nailed it just as Jim Warboy and then Zakiya arrived to work on the TV station. Zakiya has new and impressive hair, she looks great in shorts; she definitely thrives in the warm weather. Jim however was not happy about having to wear his sandals. Apparently the tube system had gone into meltdown because of the heat, people were passing out all over the place. That made me think I should be carrying my camera more. We watched some raw footage we had gathered from previous weeks; there was a five second fragment of me passed out on the pavement with my skirt snagged up to my waist. Saturday had been wild.

Halfway through the session Stuart began to jump up and down and insist that I come outside and look at something. He led me to the studio three doors down and demanded I peek; A life size gimp prop in full fetish regalia could be seen through a crack in the curtains, in front of him a king size bed. Crazy fantasy ensued; what goes on behind those heavy drapes? What kind of high-class sleaze? There is something strangely comforting about knowing that a few metres from where we sit all manner of bizarre and lurid acts are occurring; productivity and sex. Flesh and product, the simplicity is alluring, it’s a business that everybody can comprehend.

Zakiya concentrates.

We wrapped up the TV session and began to chat; everybody retired upstairs to get something to eat. Tired and distracted Stuart put his dinner on (dinner is a big thing in the Industry, but that’s another story) and we began to mull over the days activity. The cooking food, in the new and slightly temperamental oven began to burn. By the time we realised there was a considerable amount of smoke, Stuart dived for the oven door and a plume was let loose. Almost simultaneously we all glanced upwards towards the large, red and very smoke shrouded alarm. Shit.

The sound in the studio was worryingly polite, but outside the alarm shrieked with hideous volume. People started to mill around outside shouting about where the fire might be; we had no idea what to do to stop the noise. There was a sudden crash downstairs, the studio doors had been thrown open. A very flushed and irate looking woman in a bathrobe had burst in. “I am so angry, I just had to end a call to a friend in crisis!” Dumbfounded by her aggression and near nudity we all stared blankly at her from the upper floor. As she continued to vent Stuart became very distressed and sheltered at the back of the kitchen; Jim marched downstairs to stop her and to block the stairway. Her annoyance was understandable, but she was extremely rude and seemed to think that we had burnt the food for fun “next time, just use your heads!” Jim edged her towards the entrance and eventually she was outside. He quickly secured the doors behind her. Welcome to the neighbourhood.